


Don't Talk to Strangers

by TheResurrectionist



Series: Batman/Avengers Crossover 'verse [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Captain America (Movies), Superman - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Avengers Family, BAMF Bruce, Bat Family, Batcave, Batfamily Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Conflict Resolution, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drunken Confessions, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hungover Clark, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sorry Not Sorry, Sorry for borrowing Bruce Banner's tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-08-23 19:55:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8340652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheResurrectionist/pseuds/TheResurrectionist
Summary: "Open your front door," a semi-familiar voice grunted. "Now."

  Bruce narrowed his eyes and turned towards his desktop computer. He flicked the cameras on, unsettled. He was groaning before he could help himself. "Go the fuck away, Rogers."
  "We need your help!" the Captain grunted. Bruce saw him shift the other man in his arms and-oh no. That wasn't who he thought it was. "Tony's after us, and Bucky is injured and-"
 "Try the hospital. Rumor has it, they're really great at fixing that sort of thing." Bruce replied, flippant. "And if Tony's mad at you, I say good riddance."
  "Bruce, I swear to God-"
  "Have you tried Viagra yet? Because-"
  Roger's face went red. "Wayne, you open this fucking door or I will-"
  Bruce gasped dramatically. "Did Captain America just swear?"
  "Don't talk about me like I'm not here, Bruce, I swear to God-"
 Bucky and Steve manage to escape Zemo’s compound, and seek refuge with an unlikely ally. Bruce Wayne is just tired of everyone’s shit. 
Stony, post-Civil War, with some Batman for flavor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back at it again with the terrible crossovers. Sorry not sorry. Hope you enjoy!

Steve watched Tony's world fall apart in front of Zemo's screen, felt it like an aching wound in his chest. The moment those eyes were turned on him, he was done. Gone. Kaput. FUBAR.

"Did you know?" Tony asked quietly, voice betraying just the hint of a tremor. Steve swallowed forcibly.

"I didn't know it was him." He replied, but even he couldn't believe in his words. "I-"

"Don't bullshit me, Rogers!" Tony exploded. He took a step forward. "Did you _know_?"

A pause.

"...Yes."

He couldn't lie. He'd known-he'd guessed. He turned to find Bucky trembling behind him; the only part of him that wasn't shaking was his left arm-solid, gleaming in the low light of the broken cryosleep pods.

"Get out of here," he muttered from the corner of his mouth, watching Tony carefully. He nudged his side. "Buck, _go._ "

Tony raised his arm, repulsors arming. "Don't you fucking move, Barnes."

"It wasn't him, Tony!" Steve cried, stepping in between them. "Tony, listen, Hydra was-"

"Do you even _remember_ them?" Tony demanded, grief-stricken. He ignored Steve, eyes manic, focused on Barnes. " _Do you?_ "

Bucky's face was so cold. His eyes were open and empty. His hands unclenched at his side, as if in defeat.

"I remember all of them."

"This isn't going to change what happened." Steve said, taking the opportunity to push Bucky a few steps behind him. He stood to his full height, praying this wasn't going to come to an all-out brawl. "Tony-"

"I don't care." Tony said, voice icy. "He killed my mom."

Steve leaped just in time to block a burst of of plasma, catching it with the side of his shield. For a second all he could do was stand still, shocked. Tony had fired at them-Tony had fired at him.

He heard Bucky grunt behind him and felt a surge of adrenaline. He pushed his friend roughly, suddenly terrified. "Get out! Move, move!"

Bucky favored his other arm as he dodged the rest of Tony's salvo, face white with pain. Steve saw sparks coming from his left sleeve and barely clamped down on a wave of panic. _Focus on escape, then aid. You can do this-_

He threw his shield behind him, knocking it into Tony's chest. It wasn't enough to stop him, but the sharp impact made him stumble. He threw it again at one of his boots, gritting his teeth as the rockets there shattered into pieces. "Bucky!"

"M'fine," the other man said, grappling up one of the metal structures, still favoring his right arm. "Steve-"

He cut off as another repulsor beam almost took out his head, ducking and rolling towards the wall. Steve threw his shield again, pain ripping through his chest as he saw Tony's face. _No, no no no…_

They were almost at the top. He could see clouds-maybe just more snow. Who knew? He felt a repulsor beam just kiss his side and groaned as his uniform burned away, plastic sizzling on his skin. "Bucky, _move_!"

Alarms blared suddenly, a klaxon roaring in their ears. Steve looked down and saw Tony standing at a switch. Above them, the bunker doors began to close.

"Steve," Bucky swore when he saw the doors, face tight. "We're not gonna make it-"

"On my count," Steve said, refusing to believe anything his friend was about to say. "I'll jump through, then grab your arm."

Tony was down below, effectively grounded by his missing boot. He was banking on them getting trapped by the doors, or at least crushed by them. He didn't think they would try. Steve caught Bucky's eyes and leapt.

He sailed through the gap between the bunker doors, reaching out with all of his might. Half a second later, her felt Bucky's human arm in his palms and yanked. They slipped through barely a square foot of space and tumbled into the snow.

The bunker doors closed behind them with a soft hiss. Steve looked at Bucky, still clenched in his arms, and let out a choked laugh.

The snow stung his hands as he pushed himself up. He could hear the soft echo of Tony yelling into his comm below and knew there wasn't time. Bucky's soft groan startled him out of his thoughts.

"Buck?"

The other man's face was whiter than the snow as he struggled to sit up. Steve felt dawning horror overtake him as his arm drew into sight. The metal had been melted away by the repulsor, leaving barely a stump. Blood bubbled from where the metal had attached to flesh, intermixed with some strange oily liquid. "Holy-"

"M'fine," Bucky said, stumbling to his feet. He wavered a little, lurching towards Steve. "We gotta get outta here. Soon."

Steve grabbed his good arm and threw it over his shoulder. He and Bucky limped towards the plane they'd stolen, blood trailing behind him. He tried not to think about the deja vu Bucky had to be feeling- _Christ,_ but-

"We need s-safehouse," Bucky grit out as they loaded into the plane. He sounded more like his Winter Soldier self-probably a regression from the pain. "Somewhere s-safe or h-he'll f-find us…"

Steve pressed him into the co-pilot seat and gave him a quick shot like Nat had taught him. "It's gonna be okay. I know a guy."

"S'he got a s-safehouse?"

Despite himself, he felt a smile curl his lips. "I think it's the safest house in the entire world."

Bucky nodded, eyes already closing. " _Good_ …"

Steve watched him fall unconscious and steeled himself. He looked at the comm on the dashboard and sighed. Swallowing his pride hadn't always hurt, had it?

He picked up the comm and swore to himself. Just once. No one heard it. It felt really, really good.

" _Fuck_."

* * *

It was three a.m. on a Saturday, and Bruce Wayne-rather, _Brucie_ Wayne-had just completed his weekend circuit of clubs, hotels and luxury suites. He stripped off his tie and threw it over the chair in his study, frowning as it teetered closer to the lit fireplace.

Alfred always insisted on "warming" him up after these jaunts-some sort of inside joke or metaphor he wasn't going anywhere near. The butler was probably hiding out in the kitchen, sipping his sherry like he thought Bruce wouldn't notice.

The key problem with that was only _Alfred_ would drink sherry in the first place, let alone keep a cabinet of several different flavors in the wine cellar.

"Dick?" He called out, stretching his shoulders. The silk shirt strained with the movement, so he undid the first few buttons. "I swear to God, you better be ready for patrol or I'll-"

"You'll what? Glare me to death?"

Bruce looked up to see Dick hanging from his chandelier, feet pressed carefully against the metal frame. His blue eyes shone in the darkness. "Always an option. When I'm feeling merciful, that is."

"You talk like a machiavellian villain." Dick sing songed, jumping off of the chandelier and flipping gracefully to the ground. His eyes caught on Bruce's collarbone. "I don't think _Brucie_ could even _spell_ merciful."

Bruce sighed, and wiped away the lipstick at his throat. "You know it's a good cover. Now suit up, or I'll call Kent."

"Oh, what's Clark gonna do to little ole me?" Dick asked, raising an eyebrow. "Apologize for being too nice? Give me a foot rub?"

"...tell your little Titan friends about the time you shit your pants in the Batmobile?" Bruce feigned shock. "Oh wait. I'd tell them that. But I'd make sure to tell Clark first. I know how highly you think of his opinion."

Dick blanched, eyes narrowing. Bruce watched the mirror of his own glare and couldn't help but smile. "You're going down, _Brucie_."

"Bring it, shitpants." Bruce hissed, pointing towards the basement. "Wheels up in fifteen. _Vamanos._ "

Dick sent him a murderous glare and left the study, pausing to kick his tie into the lit fire. Bruce sighed as the $1500 piece of silk burned to a crisp, already imagining Alfred's lecture. His comm buzzed suddenly at his side, startling him.

"What?"

"Open your front door," a semi-familiar voice grunted. " _Now_."

Bruce narrowed his eyes and turned towards his desktop computer. He flicked the cameras on, unsettled. He was groaning before he could help himself. "Go the fuck away, Rogers."

"We need your help!" the Captain grunted. Bruce saw him shift the other man in his arms and-oh no. That wasn't who he thought it was. "Tony's after us, and Bucky is injured and-"

"Try the hospital. Rumor has it, they're really great at fixing that sort of thing." Bruce replied, flippant. "And if Tony's mad at you, I say good riddance."

"Bruce, I swear to God-"

"Have you tried Viagra yet? Because-"

Roger's face went red. "Wayne, you open this fucking door or I will-"

Bruce gasped dramatically. "Did Captain America just _swear_?"

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here, Bruce, I swear to God-"

"Are you going to find a boombox and play eighties love songs through my window?" Bruce grinned. "I'd like that. Maybe your pet assassin there could do backup."

"Bruce, it's Tony." Rogers gasped out, slumping against his door. "He's gonna kill us. We need your help. _Please._ "

"Fine," he flipped the button under his desk, opening the door. "Come in and tell me your tale of woe. I swear. I'll only laugh once. Maybe twice."

The pair stumbled into the foyer, the Winter Soldier barely conscious in his friend's (lover?) arms. Bruce sighed and switched to Dick's line. "Cancel that patrol. We've got guests."

Dick was quiet for a moment. "It better not be fucking Clark, I swear to all things holy, Bruce I will-"

"Accompany me downstairs? Great. You're the best, Dick!" He shut off his comm and trudged for the stairs. _Fuck my life,_ he thought. _Stupid fucking Captain America and-_

But Tony was involved somehow. Tony was mad at them, and now he was sheltering them in his own home. Fugitives at large. Well, he was a vigilante, wasn't he?

He snuck into the pantry and found Alfred with his third glass of sherry. The butler looked momentarily shocked, then composed his features. "Did you need something, sir?"

"A late dinner for four," Bruce said curtly, raising an eyebrow. "And maybe some vodka. Kirkland, if you have it."

"Kirkland?" Alfred's eyes widened. "That is a brand sold at _Costco,_ sir. It wouldn't be-"

"I know Dick keeps a stash under the floorboards. If you'd like to keep your sherry shelf, you'll do as I say."

Alfred stood, straightening his clothes. He placed the sherry glass behind him. "I can't fathom what you're referencing, sir."

"Of course, Alfred."

* * *

Bucky was in pain-no, the asset was in pain. He was in pain. The world was ice-hot around him, blurring in and out of focus. He could feel Steve's arms around him, tight, and relaxed into their weight. He couldn't move the metal, the arm, he-

Voices argued above him, back and forth. He could hear Steve and tensed as his words grew louder, more distressed. At one point he swore he heard laughter.

Suddenly he was sitting down, pain spiraling through his arm. He screamed and clutched at Steve, the world brightening into sudden clarity.

"There we go," a smooth baritone said above him. Something wet was on his skin. He looked up at the speaker and saw a bottle of-something? "He's coming out of it. Hold him. _Carefully_."

"Steve…"

Steve patted his shoulder. "You back with us?"

"I…" He looked at the man, still holding the jug. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Definitely not a friend," the man said, settling back on his heels. He was very handsome-angular cheekbones and a strong jaw. Dark hair overshadowed brilliant blue eyes. Aristocratic, even. "You were being overloaded by the dying mechanic in your arm-or what's left of it. I knocked out the remaining battery with the careful application of-"

"Vodka?" Bucky sputtered, finally tasting it on his lips. "You dumped _vodka_ on me?"

The man wrinkled his nose. "It's the cheap stuff, don't worry. Pretend you're at a frat party. People used to do this all the time when I was in college."

"Bucky, meet Bruce Wayne." Steve squeezed his good shoulder, focusing him. They were in an open living room, grand walls and ceilings stretching over them. "We're in Gotham, at his house."

" _This_ is your idea of a safe house?" Bucky asked, assessing Wayne in a quick flick of his eyes. "Some millionaire yahoo in the most _dangerous_ city in America?"

"Yahoo?" Wayne exclaimed, putting a hand to his chest. Bucky noticed a smaller man behind him as he moved. "Dick, am I a yahoo now? Is that what the cool kids are saying?"

"You've always been a yahoo," _Dick_ replied angrily. He was eying the vodka bottle, mouth pursed. "And an asshole."

"Bruce's house is the safest place we could be right now," Steve assured him. "It's going to be okay. He'll fix you."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think throwing money at the problem is going to help us," Bucky replied, gritting his teeth as a phantom wave of pain washed over him. "Tony's gonna find us, he's gonna kill me, and you-"

"Ye of little faith," Wayne said, shaking his head. He waved a hand, distracting him. "It's almost like all of my degrees in bio-med and physics and chemistry and engineering and psychology are worthless, huh? They're all doctorates too, what a pity."

Dick punched him on the shoulder. "I didn't know you had doctorates."

"Of course I do," Wayne said arrogantly. "Would take a doctor to fix your fucked up head. Don't even get me started on Jason."

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later." Wayne smirked, but the expression slid off his face as soon as it arrived. He inched a little closer to Bucky, who watched him warily.

"I'm not Tony when it comes to machines, but I'm damn close. I can take a look at your arm if you want. And Captain Rogers is right-nobody, not even Tony, can get in here without my permission."

Bucky stared at him, listing a little in Steve's arms. "Your voice sounds so familiar…"

Wayne smirked, rising to his feet. "I'm a billionaire. I'm sure you've seen me on TV before."

Steve snorted at that, which surprised him. He turned to look at his friend. "You sure?"

"I'm sure." Steve nodded. "Let's get you to the infirmary, huh?"

"You've been here before?"

Wayne chuckled this time, leading the way with a carefully-manicured hand. "Sergeant Barnes. If you would…"

"Sergeant Barnes," Dick repeated, trailing after his-what, dad? Mentor? " _So cool_."

Wayne opened a clear glass door for them, revealing a pristine hallway, humming with machines. He kept close to Steve's side, expression unreadable.

"You pissed off Tony. Was it the accords?"

Steve's face was carefully guarded. "Something worse. Bucky. Not his fault though."

Wayne hummed thoughtfully. "His parents."

"How did you know that?"

The other man shrugged. "Only thing that could piss him off this badly. And maybe I hacked a few SHIELD records on my day off."

Dick mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like _you don't take days off,_ getting a smack from Bruce. Steve still looked worried, so far away from his usual charming self.

"Are you gonna turn us in?"

Wayne's mouth twisted. "No."

"He's your friend."

"Doesn't mean he's right."

Steve slowed their pace, watching Wayne carefully. "Feeling suddenly charitable? A little more philanthropy before you go to sleep never hurt."

"You know nothing about how I feel." Wayne told him, something in his voice warning them off. Bucky frowned. "Now move."

Steve swallowed once and acquiesced, pulling Bucky with him. He felt a twinge of outrage on his friend's behalf.

"You're letting him pull rank on you, Stevie? He probably couldn't take Hitler's dead _body_ in a fight."

"You'd be surprised," Steve said, pulling him into the room Wayne had entered. "Now go sit down and let him fix you."

Bucky attempted a half-hearted salute, earning a small smile from his friend.

"Yes, _sir_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Steve clash over remaining at the Manor. Bucky is high as a kite, because morphine is wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! Thanks for the comments ;)

Alfred found Bruce curled up in his old bedroom after almost an hour of searching. The room was an odd choice-Master Wayne had used the main suite for almost a decade now, barely batting an eye at his childhood quarters. Dick had taken a room across the hall when he'd been younger, but it was empty as well.

"The dust in here is unforgivable, I'm afraid."

Bruce didn't move, head pressed against the window. Alfred paused in his apologies, frowning.

"Master Bruce-"

"Tony's parents," Bruce said suddenly, not turning from his position. "The man downstairs in my infirmary killed Tony's parents."

Alfred paused, taking this information in. "You think this is why Captain Rogers is on the run from his de facto partner."

"Tony never said anything-" Bruce bit off, shoulders tensing. He turned from the glass, the early light of dawn shadowing his face. "I didn't know. I suspected-hell, SHIELD had guessed it years ago-but until the Captain mentioned it-"

"It's not your fault."

Bruce's smile was bitter. "I'm harboring the man who killed Tony's parents, and the man who's defending him. What the hell am I supposed to tell Tony when he shows up, huh? 'Hey, sorry about that. Really sucks when your parents get murdered, join the support group, it meets at Dick's apartment every other Thursday'?"

Sarcasm it was, then. Well, that meant Bruce was dealing with the problem, instead of just internalizing it. Alfred let him think for a moment, leaning against the doorway. "The Sergeant is stabilized, but his shoulder will rot if you keep the mechanism in it."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back. "I need Tony. He would know what to do."

"You're a perfectly fine engineer yourself, to be fair." Alfred took a step into the room, watching Bruce carefully for defensive movement. "Why did you take them in if you weren't going to help them?"

"I don't know."

Alfred smiled kindly. "You always have a reason. I know how your mind works."

Bruce put his head in his hands, sighing deeply. "Am I a hypocrite, Alfred?"

_Because you lost your own parents too?_ was the unspoken question. "No, Master Bruce. You're a good man."

"Hnh," Bruce snorted. "Now that's the most bullshit I've heard all day."

"You'll forgive me, then." Alfred said, patting his arm lightly. "Tony will see reason. But it will take time. In lieu of that, I suggest operating on the poor sergeant before he chews his own arm off."

"That's a nice way of putting it," Bruce replied, pushing himself upright. His eyes were feverish in the low light, but determined. "Is he in that much pain?"

"I'm afraid so."

Bruce was quiet for a moment. "I'll be down in a few minutes. Have Dick tell him some jokes, tide him over."

"I'm sure that'll go over swimmingly."

"Thanks, Alfred."

Alfred quirked a smile. "Of course, Master Bruce."

* * *

"Ever hear the one about the clown and the doctor?" Dick asked, bouncing on the bed. "It's great. See, it goes-"

The excessive movement would've bothered him an hour ago, but the nice older man had given him a morphine drip, and that was the good shit. Now, the bouncing just felt like far-off pressure.

Bucky couldn't even focus on Steve's voice-which was good, because the other man had to be tired of holding him, murmuring _it's gonna be okay, Buck_ a million times as he choked on pain.

Yeah. Morphine was the best.

"Captain Rogers,"

Bucky looked up to see Bruce Wayne standing in the doorway, interrupting yet another one of Dick's poorly thought out jokes. He still didn't understand the man-a friend of Tony's was no friend of his parents' murderer. Yet Wayne was as unreadable as always, something dark lurking under his surface.

"I apologize at the intrusion," Wayne finished, head tilted. "May I speak with you outside for a moment?"

Through the haze of the painkillers, Bucky pondered whether or not he'd underestimated the other man-those thoughts sounded too much like _the asset,_ so he quashed them. "Steve."

"Yeah, Buck?" Steve's face was right next to his in a heartbeat. "What is it?"

"Go talk to 'im," he grunted, quirking his head at Dick. "I'll handle hotshot here for a few minutes."

"Bruce, he called me _hotshot_!" Dick squawked, eyes wide. "Is that forties slang for something cool? Or is it an innuendo? Cause that would be very _cruel_ to say to someone who's been entertaining you for the past twenty minutes-"

"Dick, shut up." Bruce said, gesturing outside. "Just be a moment, sergeant."

"Oh, don't hurry on my account," Bucky said, aiming a _look_ at Dick. The other man just smiled. "I'm gonna close my eyes now, okay?"

"Sure thing, _hotshot_."

* * *

Bruce stepped outside, waiting for Steve to follow him. Steve would never admit it, but he felt like a naughty child about to be admonished in the principal's office. Something about the Batman being out of his cowl made him three times as unpredictable and frightening. "I just wanted to thank you for taking us in-"

"Acknowledged," Bruce said, dipping his head briefly. His eyes were piercing when they turned on him. "I'm going to be frank with you. If I don't operate on Barnes soon, he'll lose more than just his arm. I need to re-set the internal bio-med schematics, and build out the functional structure again-"

"English, please?" Steve asked tiredly. "I don't know what that means."

"I need to re-build his arm, or it'll kill him." Bruce pursed his lips. "And I need you to tell me why Tony's after you. All the details."

Steve felt his skin flush as he remembered Tony's anger, his outrage, and shivered despite himself. "You know Bucky was the Winter Soldier."

"Yes."

"One of his objectives was Tony's parents-Stark had something in his trunk Hydra wanted badly. So he killed them."

"I thought it was a car crash?"

Steve bit his lip. "He-the Winter Soldier-pushed them off the road. Stark died soon after. He strangled Tony's mother."

Bruce's eyes were laser-focused. "You knew."

"I didn't." Steve swallowed as Bruce's glare grew more intense. "I guessed. I suspected. But I didn't know until we got to Zemo's compound. Not until we saw the footage."

"I see."

"But Bucky didn't know-he wasn't _in control_ of his actions!" Steve clenched his fists. "He was being controlled by Hydra, alright? It wasn't _him_!"

"You're shouting at me like you think it'll change anything." Bruce said dryly, eyes over his shoulder, latching onto Bucky. "I believe you."

"You-you believe me?"

Wayne rolled his eyes. "No. I'm risking betraying one of my closest friends to fuck with you."

"I knew we shouldn't have come here," Steve said, feeling his breathing grow rapid. "You're going to turn us in-you hated me, I knew we couldn't trust you-"

A sharp hit across his jaw snapped him out of it a moment later. Wayne looked thoroughly unimpressed, flexing his hand at his side.

"His anger isn't irrational. Don't think for one second that I don't have _any_ idea what he's going through. There wasn't a day in my childhood I didn't want to hunt down the man who killed my parents." Wayne hissed. "There wasn't a day I didn't dream of crushing his throat in my hands. Of watching the life leave his eyes as he bled out in some dark alley _just_ like they did."

Steve felt himself pale at the cold anger in the other man's voice, taking a step back. "I-"

Wayne continued. "There are a thousand reasons to let your friend die. There are a thousand liters of blood on his hands, whether he remembers it or not. If God judged men, he'd be damned. Fortunately for you, I don't really believe in the big man anymore."

Steve was frozen, pressed against the wall. Even if his muscles screamed to fight back, he couldn't move. He knew he would lose this fight, and the next. Wayne was terrifying.

"Now. Go inside." Bruce took a breath, shoulders relaxing. "Reassure your doped up baby assassin that everything is going to be fine."

His voice dropped a few octaves, reminding Steve just who he was dealing with.

"And if you ever insult me again, I will rip your lungs out, fill them with battery acid, and feed them to you. Understand?"

He swallowed and nodded, cowed. Bruce inclined his head and followed him back inside the room.

"Buck," he said, shaking his shoulder. The other man blinked awake, eyeing Dick like he was worried the kid would launch back into jokes at any second. "Bruce is gonna have to fix up your arm soon."

"What arm?' Bucky said, glib, trying for humor as he looked at the empty space next to his side. "I'm all right now. Get it? All 'right'?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow as the injured man devolved into choked giggles. "Morphine is a hell of a drug, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," Dick said, pouting. "You never let me have it."

"I don't want you addicted to it." Bruce said firmly, moving effortlessly from threatening to step-dad. "You know you never really needed it."

"I broke my _leg_!" Dick cried from his perch, "In two places! How is that not a good reason?"

"You think I want you hooking on ninth and Gorham without teeth?"

"That's _meth,_ Bruce!"

Bucky looked up at Steve as they argued, eyes glassy. "Your friends are weird."

"They're not really my friends," Steve admitted quietly, patting his chest. "Bruce is gonna have to operate on your arm. Okay?"

"Promise it won't hurt?" Bucky said, eyes wide. His voice shook a little. "Stevie. Promise it won't hurt again?"

Steve smiled despite himself. "I promise. Right, Bruce?"

Bruce looked up from his argument with Dick, features settling. "I'll have him on adequate morphine, if that's what you mean."

"I don't like his voice," Bucky whined, embarrassingly loud. "He's scary. He's so scary, Steve, I bet he hates you. You're waaaaay too nice for him."

Steve felt a blush travel across his cheeks. "Do you want him awake for the surgery?"

"Unfortunately," Bruce said, looking to Dick. "Go watch the monitors."

"Monitor duty? Are you fuck-"

Wayne raised an eyebrow. "If Tony bursts into my OR at full speed, we're all going to die. I like living. I do it just to torment you."

Dick's glare had nothing on Bruce's. "Fine."

"Thank you." Bruce took a step towards Bucky as Dick left the room. "Now. How long do you think we have until Tony tracks you down?"

Steve bit his lip. "I have no idea. Three, maybe four hours."

"That'll have to be enough for the inner joint. I'm not sure I can do much else for the arm until later." Wayne seemed to be tallying something up in his head. "Think you can hold him down?"

"What?"

Wayne pointed at Bucky. "Can. You. Hold. Him. Down?"

"I-Maybe." Steve thought about it. "Probably. Without the arm, yeah."

Bucky laughed up at him, good hand skittering across his hair. "You're so _bright_ Stevie!"

Wayne shook his head. "He's high as a fucking kite right now."

"Never had the stuff," Steve said.

"Oh trust me," Wayne said, grabbing a pair of gloves from the side wall. "You'll want to by the time this is over."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce plays doctor. Clark gets very drunk. Tony shows up somewhere in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! I'm thinking probably one more chapter for this. Thanks for all the comments!

Bruce Wayne leaned forward, lips pursed. Steve could see the utter concentration on his face and didn't dare make a sound. One wrong movement and-

"Hand me the retracted scalpel."

Steve fumbled for the tool, hand trembling slightly as it contacted the metal. Bucky's body was still, and for all of the strange faces he was making under the drugs, he seemed okay. He handed the billionaire the tool, not daring to look at the surgically-torn flesh at his friend's shoulder.

"Hmmm," Wayne bit out between cuts, eyes narrowing. It'd been over two hours now, and the man hadn't shown a sign of fatigue. His work had been composed and clinical, the exact opposite of Tony's-though he could see the similarities there, in his utter concentration and steady movements. Both men were so sure of themselves. He couldn't help but see the same man for a moment.

"Steve," Bucky said suddenly, a low whine. "Steve."

"I'm here, Buck," he said, leaning down. He glanced at Wayne, who was still working, and didn't dare touch his friend. The fear of jostling the delicate work overcame him again, but he let a hand ghost over Bucky's head. "What's up?"

"My arm feels funny," Bucky said slowly, as if sounding out the words. "Feels weird."

Steve smiled down at his friend, affection overtaking his worry for a moment. "I know, Buck. Wayne is just-"

"You can feel that?" Wayne interrupted, lifting his head. His eyes bored into Bucky, forcing the Sergeant's gaze up to his. Wayne prodded gently at the inside of the joint he had been tediously rebuilding. "Can you feel this?"

"Uh huh," Bucky said, nodding his head, stilling when Steve shot him a warning glare. They'd discussed not moving at least thirty times in the past hour. "Feels like you're tickling my armpit. Jesus, would ya stop that?"

Wayne looked at Steve, face blank. The expression made him inexplicably nervous. "What? What is _it,_ Wayne?"

"It worked," Wayne said softly, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. He ran a hand through his hair, oblivious as he smeared blood across his face. "Jesus. It actually worked."

"You said it would!" Steve said nervously, his tone making Bucky shift on the table. " _Stop_ moving, Buck! I'm not talking to you!" He swallowed, looking up at Bucky's shoulder. "I thought you said you could do this in your sleep?"

Wayne's eyes were a peculiar mixture of delight and awe. "This kind of work takes dozens of people…"

"He still doesn't have an arm!" Steve felt like pointing that out. Bucky winked at him, as if agreeing. "He-"

Wayne cut him off, actually smiling. "No, I know he doesn't. I was rebuilding the inner socket-the connection from flesh to metal. This kind of technology was centuries ahead of you, even in the forties. Bio-med stuff-we're barely scratching the surface right now as it is, understand?"

Steve watched on in amazement as Wayne carefully closed the open wounds on Bucky's shoulder, fingers moving deftly between the needle and flesh. He grabbed the IV line he'd inserted into Bucky almost four hours ago and pushed a few milligrams of some medicine through a needle.

"Wuh," was all Bucky said before he passed out, eyes closing. Wayne let out a sigh and stepped back from the operating table, finally letting his guard down.

He looked strangely old for a second, the handsome lines of his face giving way to pure exhaustion. Steve couldn't remember how to speak for a second.

"Thank you," he said gravely, putting a hand out. "Thank you for everything, Bruce."

Wayne ignored his outstretched hand in favor of peeling his gloves off. He tossed them into the trashcan at the far wall. His face was shuttered again. "Take him back downstairs. Elevator is on the right. When he wakes up, call me."

Steve bit his tongue as the other man collapsed into a nearby chair, grabbing Bucky's bed and pushing. It rolled easily across the linoleum. He took one last look at the Dark Knight and smiled, finally letting the relief show. They were okay. Bucky was going to be okay.

* * *

Clark found him an hour later in his study, toweling off wet hair. He didn't look up as the other man entered the room, kicking his feet up on his desk.

He'd thrown on sweatpants of all things, too exhausted to care if Alfred muttered about fashion choices as he'd served him a late lunch. They were soft, too. Dress pants just got itchy after a while, no matter how good they looked.

"Fancy seeing you here."

"Bruce," Clark said, frowning. He had a look that Bruce could only describe as _Martha_. "You-You're not wearing a shirt."

"You flew all the way from Metropolis to tell me that?" He tried not to let his exhaustion show as he stood, letting a smirk show. "Afraid I'll catch cold?"

Clark narrowed his eyes, which only meant trouble. "Sit down. Your hands are shaking."

"Uh, no they're not." Bruce held up his right hand to demonstrate, faltering as he saw it trembling. "Muscle spasms. You know, from keeping it in one position too long."

"Or because you just operated on a fugitive for four hours straight," Clark said, his tone jumping from _disapproving Clark_ to _I am Superman_ in less than a syllable. "Don't bullshit me, Bruce. Dick told me everything."

"Traitor," Bruce hissed, glaring at Dick's portrait on the mantle. "He told me he was calling Barbara. That little _shithead_!"

"Sit down!"

"Fine!" Bruce said, shoving himself into the loveseat. He growled under his breath as Clark joined him, plaid-covered arm pressing against him. "You try dealing with the two yahoos downstairs-or, better yet, you can have Tony. I'm sure he's going to show up any second now demanding blood. As if my day couldn't get any worse…"

Clark watched as Bruce blinked once, slowly, exhaustion overtaking him. He inhaled once, frowning. "Clark, did you put something o…"

The billionaire collapsed against him, eyes sliding shut as he fell unconscious. Clark smiled and arranged the other man on the couch so he was more comfortable. He was going to be beyond pissed when he woke up, but it was worth it. He patted the man's hair softly, the only time he could do so without getting his hand ripped off. "Sorry, Bruce."

Three days was far too long to go without sleep, and Dick had been right-something about the men downstairs was ripping Bruce apart. _Tony,_ his mind told him. _Tony is what's bothering him._

So he kept vigil over Bruce's sleeping form, puzzling it out for himself. Alfred came in once, sending Clark a smug look of approval as he deposited an afternoon tea set on the coffee table. Dick darted by the study's doorway a few times, still nervous enough of Batman's wrath to leave them alone.

After an hour or so, he stared at Bruce's face, relaxed in unconsciousness. "You don't know why you did it either, do you?" He sighed, leaning back into the couch. Bruce's silence was usually telling, but not today. He cocked an ear to listen for his heartbeat, gratified when he heard it pumping strongly, steady as ever.

A low whistling sound made him frown. He stood as the noise grew in intensity, moving to stand in front of Bruce. He felt the tell-tale tingling in his hands begin and paled. He grabbed the other man's shoulder and shook, alarmed.

"Bruce!"

* * *

Bruce Wayne woke to someone shaking his shoulder, forcing his eyes open as what felt like glass rained down around him.

He lurched to his feet before he was really awake, steadied by Clark a second later. The other man was eerily pale, eyes wide. Bruce followed his gaze groggily to his ruined bay window, putting two and two together.

"Tony," he said to the Iron Man suit standing in his study. "Nice of you to...drop in. Literally."

"Cut the crap, Wayne," Tony's voice was seething through the mask. He raised one arm, repulsor beam arming. "Where are they?"

Bruce turned to Clark and raised an eyebrow, as if to say _Are you going to take care of this?_

Clark looked pained. "He's got some sort of K on him. I can barely move."

Bruce frowned, seeing the tell-tale ring of green around Clark's irises. "So, let me get this straight. You drugged me-"

"-put you to sleep-"

"-and now you're making me deal with a pissed-off Iron Man all by myself?" Bruce asked, looking down at himself. "No shirt, no shoes. No suit. What the _fuck_ Clark?"

Clark had the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry. I swear I didn't-"

"Yeah, yeah," Bruce waved him off, turning to Tony. "You know I can't let you have them. As much as it pains me to say it…" He trailed off, wavering a little on his feet. "Damn, what the hell did you give me, Clark?"

"Horse tranqs," Clark said, face red. "Aerosol form. Sorry-"

Tony took a step forward, arm shoved directly into his face. "Don't make me do this, Bruce."

"Is this the part where I beg for my life?" Bruce asked grumpily, staring down the repulsor with little hesitation. He grabbed Tony's wrist, knowing he couldn't move the metal without herculean-or Kryptonian-effort.

He cleared his throat, putting a mock expression of terror on. "No, Tony, please don't, anything but that! You can't do this-"

In the middle of his raving, he let his bracelet unlatch, pressing it to the underside of Tony's wrist. With a quick beep, Tony's suit depowered, dropping to the floor.

"Oh no," Bruce said, not trusting himself to move and help Tony off the ground. "Was that my portable EMP bracelet? Shit, I forgot to take that off earlier. Almost like I knew I'd need it, huh?"

Clark didn't look amused. He couldn't see Tony's face behind the Iron Man faceplate, but he had a feeling the other man looked murderous. "Fuck all of you guys. That was brilliant."

With a pointed look at Clark, they hauled Tony shakily to the couch. Bruce undid the faceplate manually as they put him in a sitting position. "Wouldn't want you to suffocate, right?"

"I'm going to kill you, Wayne." Tony seethed, eyes bulging. "You-"

Bruce made his way unsteadily to his wet bar, grabbing two bottles of scotch. He managed to make it back to the couch in one piece, sending Clark a glare as they both sat. "How about a drink?"

Tony snorted, still furious. "If you think I'm going to tell you all about my little _feelings_ drunk off my ass, you're severely mistaken. I needed a liver transplant by the time you even _touched_ alcohol, Brucie."

"Who said anything about feelings?" Bruce asked innocently. He chugged one of the bottles, then handed it to Tony. He shot Clark a glare as the other man attempted to get off the couch, putting as much terror-inducing fury as he could into it.

Tony needed help getting the bottle to his mouth, but didn't exactly refuse as Bruce tipped the bottle back. "There we go."

"Why are you chugging ten thousand dollar scotch like it's frat party beer?"

"Reasons," Bruce said, handing Clark the other bottle. "Have a drink, Clark."

"Bruce, I-" Clark swallowed once, eyes still ringed with green. Kryptonite. He was as close to human as ever now-which meant he could get drunk. _Finally,_ a far-off part of Bruce exclaimed. "I-O-okay."

He took a swig of the scotch and almost choked, forcing down the swallow in an adorable way only Clark could manage. Bruce snorted quietly and took the bottle back. "That's adorable."

"Did you just call Superman adorable?" Tony asked petulantly. Bruce shoved the bottle back into his mouth and he took it willingly, sucking down a few mouthfuls. "I-Nevermind. Whatever. I'm still pissed at you."

Bruce took another swig, wondering if mixing horse tranquilizers and alcohol was a good idea. Probably not. If he had to get his stomach pumped, it was all Clark's fault. And Steve's.

At least this would buy Barnes a few hours. And, if he was being honest, it might buy Tony a few.

"So. Tony. About that time at Princeton…"

Tony grumbled. " _Absolutely not_."

* * *

Steve crept back up the stairs to Wayne's study, oddly tense. Bucky was fast asleep downstairs, out of the woods and beyond the pain he'd been in before. Alfred had served dinner over an hour ago, keeping Dick and two other children he hadn't met out of the infirmary. He was grateful for that, but the silence was killing him.

Where was Tony? Was Wayne alright? He didn't understand why he crept up the stairs instead of taking the elevator, but the instinct was there. He slipped into the shadows in front of Wayne's study, hearing the echo of a familiar voice. _No…_

Tony sat on the couch between Wayne and... _Superman_? He was dressed in his Iron Man suit, which looked like it had been deactivated somehow. Superman was wearing a plaid shirt and jeans, hair mussed like he'd run his hands through it. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. The only one who didn't look extremely drunk was Wayne, who only looked _mostly_ drunk.

"-and then I threw the damned thing at Thor, but you know what he did?"  
Tony was shouting, and probably would be gesticulating wildly if he could move. "He _sniffed_ it! He _sniffed_ it! _Who does that_?"

Superman broke into uncontrollable giggles, leaning on Wayne heavily. He took a swig from an expensive-looking bottle, handing it to the other man with a hiccup. Wayne looked at him with fond annoyance, drinking as well. "That's quite-quite a story, Tony."

"You're dandm-danmen-dmaned right it is," Tony said, tripping over his words. Steve's heart began to ache. "Fuck you, Wayne. I don't even know what we were arguing about."

"We weren't," Wayne said flatly, but there was intent in his eyes. "You only threatened to kill me because I wouldn't let you have Steve and Barnes, remember?"

"Oh yeah." Tony took the proffered drink, sighing. "Steve, man. It's just….I saw that screen and I couldn't do it, you know?"

Bruce nodded, jabbing Superman until he went along with it. "Uh huh."

"I was so pissed. I didn't know why Steve couldn't trust that I coulda' done it, you know? The accords. I was just so depressed. And then that bastard-" Tony took a break to swig from the bottle again, cheeks pink. "I saw the video. He killed my parents, Bruce."

Wayne looked strangely somber. "I know."

"Steve knew," Tony said, voice pained. "He said he suspected, which was just _bullshit,_ okay? He _knew_. I looked at his stupid, perfect face and I _knew_ he was lying when he said that. But _Christ,_ Bruce, my parents…"

Wayne shushed him as he broke down, pulling him into a loose hug. With a warning look at Superman, he slid his fingers under Tony's wrist and did something that disengaged the suit. The metal unfolded from Tony, stepping back into the corner of Wayne's study. Wayne himself just held Tony close, rubbing his back. "I know. I know."

"He killed my parents," Tony's voice was so broken, wretched with emotion. "But I can't hate him. I know he wasn't in control of himself. That poor schmuck…"

"So you, uh, f-forgive him?" Superman slurred, a hint of optimism in his voice. Tony shrugged.

"I know I can't blame him but-it hurts. I always thought it was a car crash. How could Steve lie to me?"

Wayne looked pained this time, pulling away from the impromptu hug. He looked at Tony, who was the drunkest Steve had ever seen him. "He wanted to protect you."

Tony's voice was small. "Why?"

"Because he knew what you would do to yourself. He knew how much it would hurt you, and, misguided or not, he was trying to protect you."

"How would you know?" Tony asked, voice shaking. "Huh?"

"I do know," Wayne said, voice low. His eyes caught Steve's in the darkness over Tony's shoulder. He knew he was there. He'd probably known the entire time. "Someone tried to save me that same pain once. And you know what?"

"What?" Tony asked, eyes wide. Superman looked similarly entranced.

"I almost lost them too. I was horrible to everyone. I was so caught up in my grief, I didn't think about what I was doing." Wayne swallowed, reaching for the bottle again. He was looking a little more than drunk now as well. "I had to let it go. They loved me. They were all I had left-I couldn't change the past, no matter how much I tried."

Superman was silent. Tony looked a few minutes away from passing out. Wayne sighed and finished the bottle in his hand, swallowing without a flinch.

"Let's get you to bed, huh?" Wayne stood, shaky on his feet, and looked at Superman. Between the two of them, they managed to get Tony upright. Barely.

Steve took that as a sign and left the hallway, darting down the stairs as silently as possible. Tomorrow would be a better day. Maybe they could work things out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark throws up. A lot. Bruce figures out a plan with Tony. Steve gets worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments! Sorry about the longer break between chapters. Hope you don't mind rising action too much.

_**Before** _

_"He killed my parents," Tony's voice was so broken, wretched with emotion. "But I can't hate him. I know he wasn't in control of himself. That poor schmuck…"_

_"So you, uh, f-forgive him?" Superman slurred, a hint of optimism in his voice. Tony shrugged._

_"I know I can't blame him but-it hurts. I always thought it was a car crash. How could Steve lie to me?"_

_Wayne looked pained this time, pulling away from the impromptu hug. He looked at Tony, who was the drunkest Steve had ever seen him. "He wanted to protect you."_

_Tony's voice was small. "Why?"_

_"Because he knew what you would do to yourself. He knew how much it would hurt you, and, misguided or not, he was trying to protect you."_

_"How would you know?" Tony asked, voice shaking. "Huh?"_

_"I do know," Wayne said, voice low. His eyes caught Steve's in the darkness over Tony's shoulder. He knew he was there. He'd probably known the entire time. "Someone tried to save me that same pain once. And you know what?"_

_"What?" Tony asked, eyes wide. Superman looked similarly entranced._

_"I almost lost them too. I was horrible to everyone. I was so caught up in my grief, I didn't think about what I was doing." Wayne swallowed, reaching for the bottle again. He was looking a little more than drunk now as well. "I had to let it go. They loved me. They were all I had left-I couldn't change the past, no matter how much I tried."_

_Superman was silent. Tony looked a few minutes away from passing out. Wayne sighed and finished the bottle in his hand, swallowing without a flinch._

_"Let's get you to bed, huh?" Wayne stood, shaky on his feet, and looked at Superman. Between the two of them, they managed to get Tony upright. Barely._

_Steve took that as a sign and left the hallway, darting down the stairs as silently as possible. Tomorrow would be a better day. Maybe they could work things out._

* * *

_**Now** _

Bruce rubbed Clark's back as the other man heaved, wincing as the noise of retching hit his own hangover. "You're doing great, buddy. Doing great."

"Fuck," Clark hissed when he was done, forehead hitting the toilet seat with a distinct _crack_. "I can't stop throwing up."

"No one told you to drink all of my scotch, boyscout." Bruce sighed as Clark turned a particular shade of puce, shoving his head back into the toilet. He heaved again. "C'mon….get it all in the bowl. I'm not letting Alfred clean up this mess."

"I've never thrown up in my life," Clark gasped when he could breathe again, looking up at Bruce. His face was pale under his famous dark curls, and there seemed to be a sheen of sweat across his brow. "This is awful."

"Could be worse," Bruce mused, looking at his watch. "Matches Malone once threw up for four hours straight after a stakeout."

Clark's eyes went wide. " _Four hours_?"

"Mhm. Tequila shooters." Bruce looked pointedly at the other man. "Never drink tequila, Clark. You'll regret it."

"The kryptonite is gone…" Clark leaned down to retch once more, but nothing came out. He looked disgusted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why am I still throwing up?"

"It's called a hangover," Bruce said, calling it quits on being ambulatory. He slid down the bathroom wall until he was on the tile with Clark, stretching out his legs. "You're gonna feel shitty for a few hours until your powers come back fully."

Clark mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a handful of swearwords and the name _Stark,_ but Bruce chose to overlook it in favor of closing his eyes. He pressed his head back against the cool wall, willing his throbbing headache away.

"So why aren't you throwing up?"

Bruce blinked his eyes open, frowning when he saw Clark looking at him. "Years of practice."

"I thought Bruce Wayne only drank a glass here or there to _pretend_ he was drunk."

He raised an eyebrow, hearing _Clark Kent_ more and more in Clark's tone. Must be feeling better. "When I was training. In the mountains. There was a spirit there that the men would fight with."

"Fight with?" Clark asked, frowning. There was a little bit of color coming back into his cheeks. "What does that mean?"

"It means, you took as many shots of it as you could, and then you sparred," Bruce said, leaning back and closing his eyes again. "It didn't matter if you won. Everyone was puking by the end of the night."

"That sounds _horrible_."

"It was." Bruce cracked an eye open. "But it makes fighting sober look a hell of a lot easier." He sighed. "Any chance you've got eyes on our two loverboys?"

Clark put his glasses back on, wincing a little. He peered through the left wall. "Steve is in the basement with Bucky. Tony is in your study touching things. Is he supposed to be touching things?"

"Fuck," Bruce said, standing up. "Superspeed me down there. _Now_."

Clark paled considerably. "Bruce, I don't know if-"

"I have nuke codes down there."

Clark grabbed him without another question, and a blurring, horrible ride later, he was in front of his study. "Bruce, you have _nuke_ co-"

"Shh." Bruce put a hand up, closing his eyes. "Jesus."

"What?" Clark asked, panicked. "Bruce, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I almost threw up on you." Bruce sighed, then opened his eyes. "Go watch Steve. Make sure he doesn't do anything...rash."

"Bruce, I don't mean to sound condescending-" a tilted head cut him off. "But I don't think he likes us very much."

"If you guys combined your love for America and all things American, this country would implode from sheer patriotism and manly good looks alone," Bruce muttered. "Now leave."

"You think I have manly good looks?" Clark asked, cracking a smile. Even his Superman curl was back, flopping happily across his forehead. "You think I'm _preeeeetty_.."

"I think your google search history is much prettier, Clark," Bruce said, raising an eyebrow. "'Can I pet a wolf?' 'What colors are ostriches?' 'Do women like it when I-"

"Okay okay!" Clark cut him off, waving a hand. "You've made your point. Superman out."

Bruce watched in amusement as Clark almost superspeeded into a wall, then composed his features. He looked at his study door, weighing his options, then pushed it open.

* * *

Tony didn't look up as someone entered the study, still playing with a picture frame on Bruce's desk. "There's my second-favorite billionaire."

Bruce snorted, leaning against the doorjamb. "Who's the first?"

"Lex, obviously."

"Ah," Bruce's eyes were razor-sharp as he watched him play with the picture frames, as if worried he'd dropped them. "Doing a little catching up?"

"Your kids are cute, Wayne," Tony said miserably. "I have no idea how you managed that."

Bruce nodded his thanks, stepping into the study. He walked over slowly, like a predator trying not to scare his quarry. "How are you feeling?"

"Me? Fine." Tony said, shaking off the dregs of a hangover. "I only threw up once." _Liar. It was twice._ "Looks like my liver is still the reigning champion."

"That's not what I meant," Wayne said, raising a dark brow. "But please tell me it wasn't on the oriental rugs again."

"Would I make the lovely and magnanimous Alfred clean something like that up?" Tony asked, putting a dramatic hand to his chest. On a snort from Wayne, he smirked. "Third floor bathroom. Some kid was in the room next to me snoring. Didn't recognize him, so I looked at your pictures."

Bruce examined the photo he was holding. "You threw up in Tim's room?"

"Why, is he some kind of germaphobe?"

"He's _two_ , Tony!"

"Need I remind you," Tony pointed at him, accusing, "That it was _your_ idea to get drunk in the first place!"

"You don't see me throwing up in little kids' rooms, do you?"

"No, I'm sure you have some sneaky Bat device that lets you throw up anywhere and destroy the evidence," Tony said, pouting. "The Battrashcan. The Battoilet. I don't know, something like that."

Bruce shook his head, depositing himself in one of the leather chairs by the fire. Someone had come in and started a nice blaze a few minutes before Tony had gotten there, and the extra warmth was nice. "I'm here to talk about Steve."

"I don't gossip," Tony said immediately. "Sorry."

"Don't beat around the bush, Tony," Wayne growled, voice dropping several octaves. It was impressive. Even he had to admit the Batman voice was a little scary. "I know what I heard last night."

"What am I supposed to do, huh?" Tony exclaimed, volume rising. He threw his hands out. "Hit him? Cry? Yell?"

"He lied."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "About what now?"

"No, he lied to me." Bruce stood, something very much more _Batman_ about the movement than _Bruce_. "I asked him if he knew about your parents' deaths, and he lied to my face. Most people wouldn't dare do that."

"He doesn't really like you, if you didn't notice." Tony said quietly. "That whole lunchbox thing was really the last straw."

"I don't give a damn if he likes me," Bruce said viciously. "I care about my best friend being hurt. He doesn't get a free pass because of Barnes, as much as he thinks me letting him stay here is evidence of it."

"So what," Tony said, shocked at his outburst. "You're kicking them out?"

"Barnes can stay," Bruce said evenly, calming. He stood by the fire, his back to Tony. "I need to look over his arm. You can have Rogers."

" _Have_ Rogers?"

"Talk to him, hit him." Bruce's shoulders shrugged. "Cry. Yell at him. I don't care. But if he tries anything in _my_ home again-" He broke off. Tony blinked.

"Bruce…"

His friend turned around and smiled, something eerie about the expression. "Talk with Steve. Then we'll see."

Tony swallowed, suddenly very warm. "Fine. Right."

"I'm sorry, Tony." Bruce said softly a moment later. "For what it's worth."

"Hmph," he replied, still looking at the fire. "You're a real class act, you know that, Wayne?"

The other man's lips twitched.

"So I've been told."

* * *

Steve looked up as someone knocked on Bucky's door. A taller man with darker hair and glasses waved, letting himself in. "Hello?"

"Hi, I'm Clark." the man put out his hand, nodding his head. "Nice to meet you."

"Steve," he said, squinting. Was this the man from last night he'd seen with Tony? "You must be…"

"Oh, whoops," the man said, stumbling into one of the chairs by Bucky's bed. "Sorry about that. You must be Sergeant Barnes!"

Bucky looked up, still woozy from the meds. "Who the hell is this buffoon, Stevie?"

Clark put out his hand eagerly. "I'm Clark!"

"Nice to..meetcha.." Bucky said, shaking it awkwardly. "You one a Bruce's friends?"

"Yeah," Clark said, taking a seat. His gaze caught on Steve, and something within it made Steve sit a little straighter. "We go way back."

"Well, you should tell Bruce that I'm very, uh, grateful," Bucky mumbled, struggling to sit up. He pointed at his left shoulder. "I'm going to have an arm again 'cause of him."

"So I heard," Clark said, gifting him with a small, but brilliant smile. "So, Sergeant Barnes-"

"Bucky."

"Bucky," Clark smiled again. "How's life treating you in the 21st century?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow, grinning. "You sound like one a them hotshot reporters."

Clark smiled, pushing his glasses back. "Force of habit, I guess."

"No way," Bucky said, shocked, "You're a reporter?"

" _Daily Planet,_ yes." Clark said proudly. "That's in Metropolis."

"What's a reporter doing hanging out at a billionaire's mansion?"

The other man looked unfazed. "What's an ex-Hydra agent doing here?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed. He sat up, the metal joints in his left arm twitching. "Who did you say you-"

Before either of them could react, his new shoulder joint hit the blood pressure machine on the bedside table, knocking the heavy equipment towards the floor. Clark reached out and grabbed it with one hand, setting it back on the table.

"Huh," was all Bucky said, looking Clark up and down. "Neat trick."

Steve was watching Clark like a hawk now. That kind of save was impossible for a normal human-and would've taken at least two hands from him. "You're Superman, aren't you?"

Clark raised an eyebrow, turning back from Bucky. "What makes you say that?"

His gaze was suddenly tinged with red, growing power swirling in his eyes. Steve swallowed and decided he didn't like the man's tone very much at all. "Nothing. Just a joke."

The red light disappeared, and Clark smiled at him again. He turned back to Bucky. "Now, since you're-Oh wait, never mind."

A knock on the door startled everyone except Clark. Steve looked up to see Bruce Wayne in the doorway, arms folded. He was wearing something expensive looking, but his expression didn't have a hint of playboy in it. "Rogers. I need you upstairs."

"Where'ya taking him?" Bucky asked from his bed, noticing the sudden tension in the room. "Steve?"

He noticed how Bruce nodded discreetly at Clark, something being discussed and settled within seconds. "I'm just gonna go talk with Bruce, alright?"

Bucky didn't miss the communication between the two men either. "Steve-"

"Just stay with Clark, alright?" Steve realized the trap too late. _Stay with Clark-Superman-the only one who had a chance at keeping him locked down._ "I'll be right back."

Wayne turned and left, expecting him to follow. Steve took a breath and stood, trailing after him.

"Where are we going?"

Wayne got into the elevator, not bothering to hold the doors open for him. "Cave."

"I thought this was the furthest down the basement went?"

Bruce grunted, as if it didn't dignify a response. The elevator plummeted, the doors opening a second later with a soft beep. Steve's heart stopped as the person behind them was revealed. _Of course_.

"Tony."

Tony Stark looked him up and down, then crossed his arms.

"Rogers."

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Leave me comment. More soon.
> 
> Now taking prompts on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/frownyalfred)


End file.
